


Where you weren't supposed to be

by Gallavantula



Category: Ghost - Mystery Skulls (Music Video)
Genre: Abandoned Lewis Timeline, Arthur and Vivi never return AU, Broken Lewis Timeline, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 18:41:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4030495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gallavantula/pseuds/Gallavantula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three stooges find a night to kick off, commit some minor crimes and be petty. Though their choice of locale finds them far above their heads than they had ever imagined for. </p><p>((In which Lewis has snapped for quite some time, and has met alternate versions of his friends and degraded into a perverted spirit.))</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where you weren't supposed to be

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for gore, cannibalism, blood, death, torture, swearing and violence.  
> Please read at your own risk!

The car’s back tires drag and slide uncertainly over the gravel, scattering pebbles against the stone wall but the members of the vehicle have no concern. The Maserati spider stills with it’s nose to the front of the gate and receives a pat on the door from inside. The engine is turned off and the three sluggers get out. The first is wearing a leather jacket with his family’s crest on the breast and opposite sleeve, puffing on a cigar with a gold plated seal as if it were just a cigarette, inhaling the smoke instead of just savouring it as his friends came around the other side of the car to join him.   
   
The second wears a cap over his greasy hair, unkept beard scratching against the expensive collar of his dress shirt as he spits between a gap in his teeth. The third chews his gum like he’s drinking water, his average height not distinguished with his average beige jacket and scarf. They all share the same washed out jeans, the shorter, capped man wearing a patch on his right knee as the middle man had holes in both.  

 “So Enri, zis the place?” The shorter man sneered, glancing up into the building beyond the gate with distaste. Looked like some abandoned house with nothing really interesting about it, even if every window seemed to be leering a rather dark, pink tinted light.  

 “Yes, this is the place.” Enriqué answers, biting into his cigar as he draws out his phone from his pocket, flips it open and snaps a shot of the building through the wrought iron gate. The middle man grunts softly, coughing for a moment before palming his mouth and wiping it onto his ratty ended scarf.  

 “Dunno ‘bout you, Drew, but this place looks like a boring ol’ tomb.”  

 “Shut up Grease, no one asked you.” Andrew snidely replies, going to snatch Enriqué’s cigar but the taller man simply holds it higher and sneers down at the fuming man. Such good, trusty friends.

  “Fine. Let’s get started and see if we can’t loot it or something.” Grease mumbles, stuffing his hands into his ass pockets and stalking up to the gate to peer in at the lock. A golden, intricate thing and he felt like his picks wouldn’t do shit for it.  

 “Finally, Grease is thinking with his brain.” Andrew continues, kicking more gravel into the wall before joining his friend to look at the lock. “What the fuck kind of shit is this?” he snaps, bringing a hand to grab the lock, lift it and drop it like discarded garbage. “Looks like warped as fuck metal that was just thrown together to lock it up. Fuckin’ stupid cops.” Drew spits again, close to the gate and looks back up at Grease, who’s lazy eyes seemed to be looking over the lock.  

 “Eh, don’t think it was the cops, cuz they would’ve put up a signs sayin’ to stay out, ye?” Enri finally decides to join them, twisting his expensive watch on his wrist as he finally grabbed his cigar and drew it out of his mouth. His eyes come down on the lock, and for a strange moment he feels like he recognizes the strange shapes, less lumps and more… distinctive intention. He steps in closer and Grease nearly dances out of the way as Andrew reluctantly stepped aside. Their leader grabbed the lock and held it up, running his thumb over the details before his studies remind him, and there’s a perverted pleasure in this.  

 “Garbage.” He spits, yanking on it to see how durable the chain and lock are as Grease draws open his jacket for the thief’s pack strapped to his chest and brings out a chisel. “The lock’s a human heart.” And he turns to grin at Andrew, knowing the man found organs and such humane, mortal shit freaky and was pleased to see the man’s cheeks whiten and his eyes nearly bulge.  

 “Don’t fuckin’ say that shit, prick.” Drew sniffs angrily, crossing his arms and grinding his teeth but Enriqué’s already grabbing the sharp edged tool and hacking poorly at the lock.  

 “I say what I fucking want!” Shouts Enriqué with destructive glee, starting to growl and snarl as he chipped and scratched the gate, the lock and the chain around him. Grease’s hands are circling one another as he watches the violent flare of their friend, but he’s swallowing his gum with nerves and keeping quiet. Eventually, Enriqué tires and hangs forward, panting, and it’s then that a groaning sound reaches their ears. All three heads turn towards the house, and they can see a window has gone dark in the very top of the building.  

 “And I do what I want.” Enriqué continues, grabbing the chisel and putting the cigar in between his lips, he growls and uses both hands to hold onto the grip and struck down, hard into the lock. The lock shuddered, and Enri swears for a moment that it looked like it pumped before he drove the sharp end down into the larger capillary and with a crack it broke apart. The gate seemed to pulse into their vision, the chains disintegrating as the whole swung inward like a welcoming hand. A mad glint gleamed over Enriqué's eyes as he watched the path of the mansion open up before him, calling to him in such a strange way that he stumbled back a moment to break free from the momentum leaning him closer.  

 “Now we’s in business.” Andrew smacks his lips hungrily together, already gathering his wits to stalk forward towards the house, and Enri flourishes his hand beside him, a clear signal that has Grease rushing up to grab the chisel and stuff it back down his jacket.  

 “Let’s go.” Enriqué agrees, and the three begin their journey towards the mansion. The closer they became, the more they lifted their heads to look up and stare into the tall windows and walls of this beautifully victorian building. To Andrew, it seemed to grow all the higher as they reached the faded, peeling porch and his scowl deepened. To Grease, it felt like it was pulsing, shifting and swaying like a slow dancer and his hands gripped to the pole on the last step for support.   

To Enriqué, all he saw was the chance to break and maim things without regret. He steps up the three planks and takes another three before rearing up his leg and with a thunderous kick knocked the handle free from the wood and sent it barreling into the main hall. The clatter brought him such delight, leaning down onto his throbbing leg to limp temporarily inside and shove the doors open. His arms hold aloft as he looks around, eyes scanning everything he can at once as Andrew steps in beneath his arm by five inches.  

 The hall has some moonlight spilling over the boards, glittering the peeling gloss like soft wefts of cream against the dark, stained and dusty wood. Scuff marks are obvious along the center of the hall and along the stairs, as well as into the various doors. Grease dipped his head beneath the arm, looking up into the chandelier in befuddled wonder before stumbling over a splinter in the wood and as he then looks down at the foot steps that had disturbed the original coating of dust, but was now layered with a new passed time.  

 “Seems this place has been visited before.” Grease murmurs, curling a finger over his lip and poking his teeth around to nibble worriedly at the skin before Enriqué shoves him in the head and walks in forward, looking up into the windows along the ceiling and their stained, old glory.  

 “Of course it has! This place has been here for years. They say it’s been nearly six years since it was found, but there are no names, and the pictures match no living person in the records.” Andrew supplies, still enviously eyeing Enriqué’s cigar until the taller man groans and tosses it his way. Andrew whimpers and panics in grabbing it, thinking it still lit before being mocked with a few clipped chuckles for his concern.  

 “Fucker.” Andrew spits, puffing on the cigar a few moments before bringing out his own lighter. 

 “Twat.” Enriqué slips, walking up the centre hall to the left stairs and drags a finger over the handrail, spreading the dust between his fingers.  

 “Uh, boss?” Grease calls softly, but the other two ignore him.  

 “The amount of dust here tells me that it was being cleaned for a while. Mima’s place has more dust than this and it wasn’t cleaned for a year.” Enriqué sniffs, feeling a harsh surface to his breathing as he prepares for the inevitable sneeze. Dust allergies always got him in trouble at home, despite not being his own bloody fault. 

  “Enri…” Grease’s nervous, anxious voice calls a little more loudly and it’s only then that the man turns, mouth snarling to bark insults at the fraiddy cat when he sees what his friend has been staring at. The handle he’s kicked is no longer where it was, somehow still crawling slowly back towards the door and it’s when Andrew finally turns, breathing out his cigar in tufts of cotton that it seems to be tugged up like on a puppeteer’s string back into the door, and the wood glows a faint gold before closing up, good as new and swinging closed. Grease is already darting forward, hands outreached perhaps to grab onto the handle and tug it free but the walls tremble and arch like some optic illusion and six giant teeth snap in close over the door, sealing it shut.  

 Grease retracts his hand at the last moment, curling back and retreating a few steps as whines most nervous dribble from his throat, coaxing the other two to hurry over to see what was happening. Their approach lights the two candles beside the doors, and though the flames are clearly fuchsia and flickering, there’s a yellow glow that seems to peer at them.  

 “The fuck was that?” Drew spits, his thick throat rippling a little as he rolled his jaw from side to side. Enriqué has no solid answer, stepping back from the door as the safe guarding teeth shift and grind against one another, behaving very much like a living, cornered animal. Waiting. Anticipating.  
   
 “The fuck do I know!” He eventually cries, realizing his crony friends were expecting some response, and the taller man turns on his heel to start walking towards the first hall to the left of the stair well. “S’not like I’ve seen fuckin’ teeth do this shit before! Let’s jus get the exit then.” His voice is steel and solid, trying to maintain his persona but he’s spinning out of control. Were they dreaming? Doors don’t grow fucking mouths like that.

“B-B-Buh-B-uh-Boss-!” Grease skitters, using his every step to nearly leap forward, like something would take a bite out of his ass if he didn’t stand in too close to his friends to keep him safe. Drew is the last to notice at all, and he barks with worry before following suit, trudging past the stairs, into the door way and down the hall towards what Enri assumes is the kitchen. The flood boards still have the strange, creamy wefts of the primer peal, and it crackles apart like glass candy when they kick at it. The next door opens… and Enriqué stops in his tracks. Beyond the door, is the same lobby they had just come from. The door groaned gently across from them, the teeth again shifting and making themselves very known.  

 “What the fuck!” Drew shouts, kicking into the door frame with unconfined rage, and it’s then that a strange ticking sound makes itself known by grunting and stirring half a second delay. All three heads stop, shoulders hunching higher to their ears as they stilled, and waited. When did that clock…? A stirring of fabric comes from just above their heads, and though Grease and Drew both snap up to see it, it’s Enriqué who glances behind them that sees the source.  

 It’s some shape, drooping out of the wall like someone left wax to melt. It dripped down to the floor soundlessly, making little pink clouds of a mess as the bulbous shape arched around, and a grotesque face with fangs and hollow, sagging eyes smiled at him.  

 “Run!” Is his only warning before he’s blitzing across the open floor, skittering around the stairs to the other open door. His friends shriek, one alarmed by the behaviour of their boss and the other seeing the same spectre looming in to reach for him with a rippling, melting tendril. The band of three make their way into the new hallway, darting down over knocked armour and shattered planters in a mad dash for freedom through the halls of the house.  

 Behind them it’s just hollow, vibrating laughter that follows through on chasing them through each step they take, hotly panting on the backs of their necks like hounds nearly ready to pounce on their meat. Feet thump heavy on the planks, some creaking like they would give as the trio dart another hall, another doorway, only to meet a dead end.  

 “Fuck! Move!” Enri screeches, sliding to a stop only as another ballooning shape lifts itself from the floor, the same melted eyes peering open… A second, and third head began to bubble up from the slits in the wall and door, looming in and even Drew is belching from the bubbles of anxiety in his belly. There were more..? Together, they turn tail and begin running again, hoping to weave back towards the back lot of the house and find an exit, but the more they turned, the more lost they became. Behind them, it was clear that something was tailing them, and every wail and moan from those things got louder and more concise. There were more, and more, and more gathering for them. 

  “B-Boss, there-!” Shouts Grease, pointing at a door that was closing already, revealing stairs. Stairs! It must lead to a basement, they can scamper through a window from there!  

 “GO!” Enriqué howls, grabbing Drew by the cuff and hauling him over, helping them each rush towards the door, seeing another bubbling, warped thing peer through the hall wall and form with six more pushing through, and it was all too much terror at once. Grease is first, hauling the door open as Drew just bolts, nearly falling down the stairs in his hurry as Enri stops long enough to slam the door shut, brace the handle with a broom, and take the lead after his friends.    Their arrival in the basement is untidy, skittering around and closing the door before sagging against it to catch their breath. All of this chaotic running around is draining, and Drew dry heaves from the stress, from the terror of near death and slumps into the wall. His body is shaking terribly, feeling like his blood pressure was through the roof and he regrets forgetting his diabetes case. Grease is chattering his teeth, wringing his hands and trying to breath as Enri finally draws out his comb in a shaky hand, and with trembling strokes, works his hair back. The three of them are reeling from what they’d just seen. It’s hard to swallow, the sighs of such spectres that should not exist, have no reason to. 

What…  

 “W-Wot… the fuck.” Drew manages at last, rubbing his wrist against his mouth to hide the spittle that got over his chin, gulping again as his head starts to sit right and thought returns to a clearer consistency. They were facing something so trip inducing… Wait. Turning to look at his companions. What the hell had they even witnessed up there? 

 “Enri, you didn’t put shit in th’ cigar, didja?” The stout man squeaks, shifting forward as if to grab at his boss, but the man was pale and shaken already as it was. Enri hisses, bringing up a hand to smack that hand away, shaking and turning away to hide his unease. 

 “D-Don’t be stupid you turd, it was my Dad’s.” Enri snaps out, and Drew shakes his head to sniff, feeling a little queasy though he blames his running around on it first. Stepping forward to try and persist against his boss, he breathes in to speak again before gagging and pinching his nose. That’s all it takes for the others to sniff once and tuck their faces into their jacket and scarf, queasy feeling ramping up again.  

 “What is that smell…?” Grease squeaks with a cough, already feeling it seep through his thin scarf and coat the inside of his mouth like a Syrup. His knees shake as he makes to look further into the room, though the candles are so high up against the walls that it gives the smallest flicker of magenta light over the texture of the floor. Enri can barely handle this any longer, and his feet feel like they are vibrating with nerves. 

 “L-Let’s find the window, and get out of here.” He counters instead, already striding forward at the sight of the sill right up against the ceiling. 

 “W-Wait, Enri-“ Drew squeaks, glancing down to the strange lumpiness of the floor, it’s surreal lack of depth and has a strange, perverse thought on what terrors this could be- The very thought makes his skin crawl and there’s vomit pushing up in his esophagus- Though it’s too late and Enri is skidding to one side from the slipperiness of what he’s stepped on.  

 “What the hell-?!?” The man yelps, nearly falling face forward before he’s stepping back onto his grounded leg, staring at what he stepped in. Like a sliding dream of a movie screen Enri realizes that there’s the colour of the floor beneath the smear he’s made with his foot, and he’s seen that kind of thick, chunky smear before- 

 “It-It’s so dark…” Grease whines, ramping tightness in his throat mounting as eventually they all look to Enri’s foot… and the strange dangling piece sticking to the sole of his sneaker, trembling like it was solid but flabby. It’s frozen stiffness that holds them standing, the smell slowly seeping into the pores of their mouths as the darkness of where they might have found themselves sank into their skulls like cold water dripping through a hole in the roof. The man struggles to kick it off, seeing the tendril flail before the piece comes unhooked and strikes into his other pant leg.  
   
 “F-Fuck-“ Their boss squeals with terror, stepping back as quick as he can to avoid the piece and stumbles back into the nearest wall like he means to grapple with it and escape. The lean male is breathing in heavy, staving the hyperventilation that wants to come, wants to choke him out from stepping on something that was clearly organic and bleeding-  

 A clink of chains suddenly caught their hare trigger attentions, and bouncing back, they finally notice the decor behind them. The walls are all littered with mate, dark chains with links nearly big enough to fill in one’s palm. It seems that quite a few loops have been strung up beneath the candles and nails of the walls, like macabre garlands inviting a party of some kind. Instead, it’s all the more obvious from the dangling cylinders that glint with the catch of the fuchsia flames, that hand cuffs are in plenty favour of use.  

 “This is fucked up… So fucked up…” Drew is babbling now, stepping back in towards the door to shake the handle, wanting out, out, out- It’s locked, tight, and barely budges. “This is fucked up, mates, fucked up… We gotta…. fucked up…”  

 Grease has already begun to bite at his thumb through the scarf, careless of the drool and chafe as his eyes rove over each dip and twist of the walls, stepping forward like he’s hoping some axe or weapon would be handled in their clutches. But no, instead, at the furthest reach of the room against their own wall, was something else. He can barely stomach the scream, the terror as he wobbles, knees giving out and drops to kneel on the floor. Instantly, Enriqué is whirling around, reaching into his jacket for some concealed weapon when he sights it too.  

 A hanging head, bound hands… 

 “B-Boss…” Drew garbles, gagging on his own tongue, tears pricking in his brown, sullen eyes but they’ve all seen it now. The body strung up to the concrete, the wisps of hair that seemed partially mangled, the other half shinning and clumped with blood. From the angle of the hanging neck, one could venture to say it had been twisted and broken. The strange lumpiness on the floor only makes more sense, once their eyes travel down with abject horror from the nudity of this person, and their apparent lack of legs.  

 “This is fucked up- So fucked up-!” Drew sobs, nearly tottering on his own to collapse like his friend did, but Grease isn’t responding anymore. A body. They’ve found a fucking torture chamber inside some fuckin mansion- “We shoul’n’t a came, Boss! The coppers, they did-“ Though he’s still going, still rattling up as his neck jiggles all the more with his erratic speech- But no one’s listening to him anymore. Enri’s already stepping forward, hearing the squelch and suction pop with every step through the grunge of organic matter strewn over the floor. It’s thick, hungry, and he feels like he’s walking over a mountain of bodies instead of several inches of decaying waste.  

 The closer he gets, the more tragic the scene. It’s a woman, hung there, her chest carved out like some beast had gone to town on her, shorn through the yellowing, curling slits of skin. That hair looked like it was long, maybe to her shoulders or mid-back, and now it was matted and clung to her exposed inner workings. Enri’s beyond the vomiting stage, closer to the dead faint, but he’s not going to manage, not when he sees how thin and decrepit she looks. It hasn’t been long since she was killed. He can see that the blood hasn’t turned black yet, not like the dog his dad killed when he was seven, nor the smear form the man’s nose he broke on the front marble hall. This, was deranged, extended torment that showed her struggle.

  At this angle, he can see the smile painted on her face, the smear of blue lipstick beneath the spat up blood and bile that dried over her chin, which held burns over the smooth look of her skin. The wall had so many spatters from behind the eaten, stumps of her legs, and there’s the sound of retching beside him from one of his friends. This person had struggled, fought hard and long for freedom, only to be bled out… Enri can barely handle looking her over, examining the remains in such condition… Not even him and his gang pull horrid shit like this. A knife through the hand, two fingers, maybe. Those are fear tactics though, submission over others.  

 Not… perverse, like this.  

 “This is fucked- hic- up, so fucked up…” Continues Drew, still slumped to the ground but working to stand again, hiccuping with such disgust that he’s dry heaving too soon after. Grease is brought back to reality somehow. quivering and shaking as his eyes blink from his suddenly more shallow looking face. It’s dumb, it’s vapid, but they all feel aged by this, more than their stupid antics and abuse of power from before. Nothing like this. Anything but a cold reality like this. 

  “Shut up, Drew.” Enri rattles up with steel, finally making the sign of the cross over her body and blessing it in hopes that maybe her soul could be freed, and he’s turning to look at them when he feels stiff. Stuck.  

 “B-But Boss, sh-sh-sh-sh-“ Drew babbles all the more, palming at his face to wipe away the sweat and tears and stink from his mouth. They were all coming apart, now weren’t they? Like little kids caught by their parents skinning the cat. Again, Enri makes to move, to step forward but it’s like his torso is stuck in place and will not move. If anything, he’s starting to feel dizzy and sicker than before. His skin breaks out in a heated sweat before his temperature drops almost completely. It was like he was near blacking out, without the pain of being hit in the head.  

 “What…” Enriqué murmurs, finding that something’s building up in his throat, slick hot and cloying, and he worries he’s about to be sick. Grease’s face rises up then, his legs shaking like some cartoon and even Drew’s managed to clam up. Good. Getting their shit together. His team. His gang, they would get out of this stupid, disgusting mess, and never touch the memory again. He tries to talk, though the effort seems to pull on muscles that don’t want to move and ache horribly. Enri tries one more time, and it’s then that he knows something is horribly, wretchedly wrong.  
   
 “Boss…?” Grease mewls daintily at last, tears streaking down his face as the scarf covered in sweat and drool falls from over his greasy face… and the pain strikes hard. His head knows it’s shock. Brutal, horrible, strangling shock that makes his legs give out, his hands slap down to his sides but he’s not falling yet. Not for a moment, his torso is still held in place, and Enri’s head slumps forward when he loses control to see his stomach, somehow bulging before him. It looked pointed, like some hand was forcing itself through him but no, he could see another form just as similar below it. The body he inhabited suddenly wasn’t his anymore, bereft and sinking in the pain of being pierce by three wickedly sharp objects. How…  

 The other two members find it in themselves to scream, shrieking, forced through their diaphragms with loud, sudden bursts as blood begins to pour out of those holes. Enri feels that same thickness in his esophagus from earlier rear up into his mouth, and then he’s spitting up life blood over his front, and the now moving objects in his abdomen. His vision is shuttering, stretching out into a blur and distantly he can tell he’s crying, wailing and choking, but that’s not him anymore.  

 Drew’s nearly keeling over, seeing his boss jerking and trembling as he bleeds, and the mass behind him makes itself fully known. Black, such a pitch night black that it stands out against the darkness behind it; rises higher and higher, until the gold blur of something moving forward from the mass makes a new beacon in the horrid darkness that looms four feet short of the ceiling. This thing formed, then, moving Enri effortlessly from the floor as it stands tall, and it’s clear silhouette creates broad, spiked shoulders; massive, club like forearms that attached to the three talon like fingers that held up their friend.  

 Wiggling like it was toying with mud, the fingers retract, and there’s a crunch from a bending bone, a squelch from freed space and more life supporting blood pours down the man’s legs. Enriqué has finally ceased screaming, limp and formless as he’s brought higher, help up by the tips of those bone shaped claws. 

  “Enriqué…” Bemoans Drew, stumbling forward to grab onto Grease like he was an anchor, and for once in his entire life the thin, average man did not flinch or squeal. They hold steady to each other, instincts gunning rapid fire commands that muddled their actions into stillness, watching what horror was unleashed. Then this strange creature sharpened like a change of lens, condensing the appearance of a funeral suit had the chest suddenly move and ripple with focus, until a strain could be heard as it was seen. The strong material crackled and snapped as the fabric came apart, and in the centre of it’s massive chest appear teeth through the tears.  

 They awned open, shearing the yellowed dress shirt and scattered the meagre black buttons onto the floor without a care. The two men peered into the void, the black darkness of this creatures chest as the hinges of teeth spread wide like some perverse artistic rendition of the sun. As Enri was shifted, the maw seemed to reach forward and snap shut around those dangling legs with a clap of muffled silence. Another shrill, piercing scream came from the two friends, grabbing to sit side by side, trembling on the wet, slick concrete as their friend was easily shorn free of his limbs. The teeth ground and set against one another, severing all ligaments and skin from the body, and left freely dripping wounds that seemed to move like a doll’s broken set of legs. 

 The answer to what had happened to the girl, had come. 

  Drew whimpered, then, breathing heavy, hard, and sharp as he feels his pants heat up, and moisten over his groin and legs. He’d soiled himself in the sheer terror of the behemoth that stood before them, and as those teeth parted wide once more, a single eye seemed pushed up through a sort of organic slit, and wetly blinked open. Slitted, bloodshot, it oriented itself in front of that black, fleshy throat and peered out to see them. Grease shuddered again, nails digging through Drew’s shirt but neither moved, not as the eye seemed to shrink and widen, that slitted pupil growing with intention. Whatever this creature, this abomination was, it had seen them.  

 The maw managed to look like it was smiling, beaming wide and hungry for their flesh. Enri’s body is then dropped like a forgotten stuffed animal, the strike of his head against the floor heavy and wet before settling in a heap. The creature begins to slide forward, not moving it’s knees once to take a step. That inhuman movement seemed all the more horrifying as a tongue began to work around the gums and divots of it’s fangs, eye slipping back down into that pocket to reveal the throat once more.  

 They were both going to die down here.  

 And as the hand reached forward, coated in blood, Drew shoved onto Grease to stand up, and bolt. His friend fell forward, screaming without truly breathing as the beast moved in and grasped the man’s head into an open palm. Drew has already left his friend behind, scattering hasty footsteps to get out when behind him he hears the bursting of liquid and the spatter against concrete before the screaming even stopped. Drew’s crying, feeling the wetness of his cloths catch against his thighs and he’s sobbing, wasting the air he’s got before crashing into the door.  

 Hands scrabble for the handle, shaking it and pawing at the door with such trapped patterns that he’s worse off than a pinned animal. 

 “Let me out! Let me out! Please, Don’t kill me- D-Don’t kill me-“ Though just as suddenly that hand pierced him from behind. Before the pain sets in, he can feel his body move apart, ripping to allow those massive, thick digits to work through his organs before it flares with pain. There’s a shaking in his legs, knees quaking and collapsing beneath his weight but there’s another set of fingers curling over his face, pressing in to his mouth to stifle the cries and screams. It’s drawing him back, forcing his head to tilt and raise his chin until his throat strains and Drew’s choking and gagging on the thick blood curling up in his esophagus but… 

  His vision is turning hazy and slick like Vinyl, tilting up, and up, and seeing these two wisps of pink flame that seem to shift and narrow like some expressive tail… though a flick beneath them makes for a ghoulish, fire built face and Drew finds his heart falling out of his chest. A maw of flame with eyes stared down into his soul and it felt like he was being burned from the inside out, his skin blistering. 

  “Lewie… is hungry…” Comes a voice, from the chest behind him, and with a jerk, Drew’s head snaps back and the spine cracks in little bursts before tearing apart.  

 There was no final scream.


End file.
